Broken Wing

by Judith James

  Sarah noted with some satisfaction that this time he hadn’t run away. She decided to reward him. “It wasn’t the kiss I objected to, Gabriel. It was the manner in which it was delivered.”

  “What do you expect, mignonne? I am a prostitute, though we both choose to forget it at times.”

  “You were one,” she allowed. “What does that have to do with it?”

  He lifted his gaze to hers, overwhelmed by her innocence and saddened at the enormity of the gulf between them. “I am very fluent when it comes to sex, my dear, believe me.” Looking away, he continued, “But kissing, well, it’s something that lovers do, sweethearts, husbands and wives, not whores and their clients. It’s far too intimate and personal, you see.” He glanced her way again, with a hint of a smile. “You are, in fact, mignonne, the only woman I have ever kissed. I trust it was memorable at least. My apologies, mademoiselle,” he sketched a mocking bow, “for botching the job.”

  Something sweet and painful pierced her breast. She looked at him, dissolute, debauched, and achingly beautiful. Vulnerable and alone, he challenged her with his humor and his pride. She thought him magnificent. Tears welled at the back of her eyes and she fought to contain them. He wouldn’t appreciate her pity. “I’m honored,” she said, ignoring his mockery.

  Gabriel watched with puzzlement, then mounting alarm, as she threw back the covers and made her way across the icy floor, stopping an arm’s length away. She reached out her fingers, lightly touching his jaw, and he hissed on indrawn breath. “Don’t, mignonne,” he pleaded. He grasped her hand gently, pushing it away. “No, Sarah,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Then how will you learn to kiss me properly?” she coaxed. “Let me show you, Gabe. It’s just a kiss.” Giving in to the hot urges and wild imaginings that plagued her every time she looked at his beautiful mouth, she took another step toward where he sat, splayed like some great jungle cat on her window seat.

  Mesmerized, he made no further protest, no move to stop her.

  Slowly, deliberately, she placed one hand on his shoulder to steady herself, and lifted her gown with the other, high enough to allow her to swing her leg to straddle him as she settled on his lap.

  White-hot need shot through him, chasing away every trace of fatigue, every lingering doubt, or warning thought. His body jerked awake and he moaned low in his throat as he reached for her hips.

  “Shhh,” she quieted him, taking his hands and placing them on either side of the seat, “this is a kissing lesson, Gabriel. Will you promise to remember?”

  “I will try, mignonne,” he managed, but it felt more like torture, as he used his trembling hands to brace himself.

  She shifted her weight in his lap, making him throb with blissful pain, his swollen member aching as she raised her hands from his shoulders to tangle them in his hair. “You have such beautiful hair,” she murmured. “Like chocolate and honey, toffee, and cinnamon. When I first saw you, I thought of candy, and I wanted to taste you.” He moaned in anticipation as she continued to stroke his hair, the back of his neck, nuzzling him with her lips, breathing soft against his cheek. Softly, gently, she kissed his brow. “Close your eyes, Gabriel.”

  He did, and felt her fingertips delicately tracing his face, his brow, his cheeks and jaw, the column of his throat. Her soft lips followed her gentle fingers, exquisite torture. Nibbling, nuzzling, they tugged on his ear and a bolt of desire, sharp as a knife, stabbed through his vitals as he rasped for breath. Christ! No one had ever … he’d had no idea … she had no idea what she was doing to him.

  Unaccustomed to being hugged or kissed in tenderness, starved for affection, desperate to hold her closer, he tried to shift her, to move her beneath him, but she gripped his shoulders, pushing him back. “No, Gabriel, just kissing. You promised. Stay still, and let me kiss you.” Her voice was warm, humming in his ear, interspersed with soft, moist kisses. It robbed him of breath and curled his toes. “Just enjoy it. You don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to go anywhere. Just relax.”

  Her voice bewitched him. Her tongue swirled hot in his ear and she nibbled his lobe, making him groan, but he did as she said, her kisses, her fingers, drugging him into a sweet surrender. He forgot where he was. Everything around him receded until there was only her whisper, her touch, her tender, aching kisses. After an eternity of intoxication and mad desire, her fingers bracketed his mouth and she finally, mercifully, brought her lips to his. Sobbing with relief and hunger, he clutched her wildly, his strong, skilled hands shaking as he pulled her closer, plundering her mouth, drinking her scent, and tasting her, sweet as sin. He plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, seeking her, finding her. They thrust and parried, the movement of lips, and tongue, and mouth, matched by that of their hips, grinding and rocking together.

  He slowed then, and gentled. Not much experienced with kissing, he was nevertheless a sensual man. He’d thought it a curse until this moment. Now he surrendered to it, trusted it, softening his kiss as he stroked her lips with his tongue, dragging his full firm mouth back and forth across hers, gentle and slow, then hard and deep. Mouth, tongue, soft whispers and tender caresses, they continued long into the night, drugged and lost in each other.

  It was Sarah who finally broke the spell. Pulling away with a shaky laugh, she laid her head against his shoulder and hugged him close. He gathered her tight in his arms and pulled her back against his chest, deep into the window seat with him, cradling her, warm under the blankets. “Sweet heaven … I … What was that?”

  He had no words with which to answer her. He didn’t know any more than she did. He’d never experienced anything as powerful in his entire life. All he knew was that his world had just been turned upside down and inside out, and nothing would ever be the same again. As the dawn broke over the horizon, Sarah eased off him, slightly embarrassed, and though his hands were firm and gentle, supporting and guiding her as she stood upright in the morning gloom, he was unable to meet her eyes.

  He rose to his feet, his legs so weak he could barely stand. “The sun’s almost up,” he said, cursing himself for being unable to find anything better to say, after receiving such a gift. “I … Davey will be waiting.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. He was blushing, awkward and vulnerable and clearly bewildered, not sure what he was supposed to do. How did you end a night like this? She didn’t know herself. Impulsively she moved into his unresisting arms and hugged him fiercely, planting a firm kiss on his cheek. “Best you go then, Gabe. Thank you, for last night. I’m sorry about what I said before. You kiss like an angel!”

  Ducking his head in embarrassment, absurdly pleased by her words, he managed a grunt and a slight squeeze in return, before beating a hasty retreat, back to the world of violence, flashing steel, and iron-hard control, back to somewhere safe.

  Late that afternoon, tired from a sleepless night, muscles aching from a particularly grueling session with Davey, Gabriel hurtled down the beach, his horse’s hoofs pounding through the surf, the damp cold invigorating him and clearing his head. Stopping by a large outcropping of rock, slick and accessible at low tide, he dismounted, and made his way over barnacles and shells to perch on the edge.

  As the wind buffeted him, he closed his eyes and opened his senses. He listened to the dull rumble of the waves as they advanced and receded, hissing and sizzling and whispering deep secrets, and for the first time that day, he allowed himself to think of last night. His lips curled in a blissful smile. He felt like dancing, like singing. He felt as if he could fly. He thought of Sarah, and her laughing eyes, her welcoming smile, and her gentle touch. Her generosity astonished him. Everything he’d asked of her, she’d given freely, with openness and kindness. Kind, yes, but God, those kisses! They were the kind of kisses a woman gave her sweetheart. For the first time, he allowed himself to hope that maybe, as unlikely as it seemed, she was beginning to care for him in the same way he cared for her.

  When he was younger, he used to pretend he’d been left
at Madame’s by accident, and pray that someone was looking for him, would come to find him soon and take him home. He’d learned the way of things quickly enough, and soon nothing could shock him. He’d stopped pretending, and he’d stopped praying after that. He’d looked for no mercy and held no expectations. Now he thanked a merciful God for sending him something so achingly sweet and beautiful as Sarah and her kisses, and he prayed earnestly that she would allow him to kiss her again.

  She did. He kissed her often after that, every chance he got, slow, sweet kisses stolen under the moon and stars; hot, breathy kisses when he greeted her; and quick and furtive kisses in the kitchen, the stables, and on the stairs. He fully employed his talent for sensuality and seduction to master this new art, to fashion with slow hands and sweet mouth, a heady intoxicating communion each time his lips touched hers. He knew he pleased her, and it thrilled him when she moaned and clung to him, returning his passion with her own. It was joyous, innocent, a first for both of them, and each kiss became a memory, untarnished and pure, belonging only to them.

  CHAPTER

  12

  Sarah watched Gabriel move as he practiced with Ross thrusting and parrying the wind whipping his hair round his shoulders. The months of working with Davey had sculpted him. Powerful and lean, his body was corded, sleek with muscle and sinew, his stomach ridged and hard. He moved like a dancer, lithe, graceful, and deadly, and as she watched him, mesmerized, she unconsciously licked her lips.

  “You like what you see, little cousin?” Davey whispered in her ear, startling her. Growling at him, her face a deep crimson, she didn’t answer. With a knowing smile, he tugged on her hair and made to leave.

  “Wait! Davey?”

  “Yes, querida?”

  “Do you … do you like him?”

  He smiled sweetly. “Why, yes, cousin. I like him. I like him very much. But not as much as you do, I think.” Giving her a wink, he moved away.

  Over the next few weeks, the house filled with noise and laughter as Jamie returned home to celebrate Christmas. Cheerful and enthusiastic, he regaled them with stories of adventures with his new chums, pranks played on the stodgy schoolmaster, and the foolish escapades of Sidney’s silly daughters. He’d grown in size and confidence over the past four months, and while he was clearly delighted to be home, there was a new reserve in his manner, reflecting his growing sense of himself as a young man, rather than a boy. Inclined to forget a past that had no place in his new life, caught up in the excitement, short memory, and endless joy of youth, the immediate was all that existed for him. He had friends his own age now, and for the moment at least, they were far more exciting to him than Gabriel, Ross, or Sarah.

  Gabriel couldn’t fail to note that Jamie no longer sought him out as he used to, and he wondered if he was becoming an embarrassment to the boy, an unwelcome remembrance of dark times. It reminded him that he was neither a guest nor a member of the family, but a paid employee whose services would not be required much longer. Stubbornly determined to enjoy whatever time he had with Sarah to the fullest, he buried all such hurts and fears, and let none of his worry show.

  Over the course of the Yule, the house was decorated with greenery, and there were feasts, visits, dances, and much merrymaking with the townsfolk and the local gentry. Gabriel was surprised, embarrassed, and deeply moved when Ross and Davey presented him with the gift of a fine Toledo blade, made to match his height and reach. He was speechless when Sarah gave him a beautiful violin made by an old Gypsy fiddle master. He was embarrassed that he didn’t have any gifts to give in return. He’d never celebrated any holiday before, hadn’t known what to expect, and he’d certainly never been given gifts.

  Sarah eased his discomfort by claiming he had given them the gift of music, and so it was that he found himself the center of attention at soirees and dances throughout the holidays, delighting family and guests with his artistry and skill. Not used to attention or applause, he found it distinctly discomfiting at first, but soon learned to manage a gracious, if somewhat terse reply, to the congratulations and admiring comments.

  When Ross hosted a gathering of friends and neighbors for Twelfth Night, Gabriel was eagerly sought after by the local young ladies, much to his chagrin, and the household’s amusement. Good-natured and polite, he danced with several country misses, providing more than one with fodder for dreams for years to come. He was, nevertheless, uncomfortable in such gatherings, and relieved when the season wound down and he could resume his training with Davey, his sparring with Ross, and his evenings with Sarah. His only regret was Jamie’s return to Sidney’s.

  The quiet was welcome to everyone after the bustle of the holidays, and Davey and Ross sat enjoying a brandy in the library. Ross could see Gabriel and Sarah through the open door across the hall, heads bent close together as they played a duet on the violin. He couldn’t fail but notice they were practically inseparable these days. Only half-attending one of Davey’s scandalous stories, his glance flicked from his sister to his protégé.

  To his credit, Gabriel appeared to be behaving like a gentleman, somewhat surprising under the circumstances. He was clearly considerate and respectful of her, and doubtless head over heels in love. As for Sarah, she practically glowed whenever he was in the vicinity. Ross sighed and rubbed his temples. The lad was badly damaged, entirely unsuitable, and he didn’t want to see her hurt.

  “They make a pretty pair, don’t they? He’s mad for your sister. You realize that, don’t you, Ross?”

  Ross blinked, giving Davey a sour look. He’d forgotten he was in the room. “He pants after her.”

  “Well, at least you know he’s not a catamite.”

  “Blast you, man; that’s not amusing!”

  “It is to me. You’re as ruffled and missish as some ancient spinster. She’s been alone a long time, Ross. She’s not found a man to interest her since that travesty of a marriage five years ago.”

  “I had thought, at one time, that perhaps you and she …”

  “Ah, yes, well … these things happen. A man waits too long, you see, and some other fellow seizes the prize. She only has eyes for him. You’re no more blind than I am.”

  Ross sighed. “I’ve feared it.”

  “Why? What’s to fear? He’s a likely lad, treats her well enough from what I can see.”

  “The thing is, Davey … he’s not exactly what he seems. His circumstances, his background, through no fault of his own, have been horrendous. I fear he’s been damaged … badly.”

  “Aye, well, so have we all, my friend. Life does that. What of it?”

  “Christ, man, we found him in a brothel! He grew up there and he wasn’t employed as the potboy or the cook. He’d been looking out for James, and Sarah insisted we bring him home with us.”

  “And so? The girl has good instincts and you’ve never been one to judge a man by what he can’t help and had no part in creating. Or was he happy there?”

  “No, I think not. I believe he stayed to protect Jamie.”

  “Hmm, so you owe him a significant debt, hence his welcome to your home.”

  “But not to my sister! I don’t fault him for it, Davey, but if you knew the things he’s been through … what he’s done.”

  “Maybe I do; maybe I don’t.” Davey shrugged and poured himself another brandy, offering one to Ross. “What’s your point?”

  “I’m afraid he’s damaged in ways that can’t be mended, and that she’ll have her heart broken trying.”

  “She’s a woman, my friend, not a child, and a widow at that. It’s for her to decide, isn’t it?”

  “I’m fairly certain that he’s killed before.”

  “Well, heavens, Ross! So have we! It will certainly help with his training.”

  “You’ve had him for just over four months now. What do you make of him? Do you like him?”

  “Aye, well enough, old friend. He’s a good lad. Sharp as any I’ve trained. Hungry, curious, agile as a cat, and very quick to learn. I’d as
lief have him at my back as any of my crew.”

  Ross’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “High praise, indeed, Davey! He’s that good?”

  “Aye, brother, as good as you were at that age, and I reckon he’ll be better than both of us before too long. I’ll tell you something else. I know strength when I see it, Ross, and that boy has a core of steel. He seems decent enough to me, and not only because of what he did for Jamie. We’ve both seen lads no older than he is, born to fortune and privilege, given every opportunity, and what do they do with it? They debase themselves and others. Why? Because they’re spoiled and bored. Because they can. Gabriel may have grown up in a hellhole, but I’ll measure a man by how he’s dealt with adversity, and from what I can see he’s done all right for himself. He’s a decent lad, Ross. More so than many I’ve met. If living a life like you say didn’t destroy that, I can’t imagine anything will.”

  Ross let out deep sigh. “You’re right, Davey. I like the lad, too. It’s just hard … one’s sister. I daresay it would have alarmed me equally if she’d set her cap for you.”

  Davey threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Blast it, man! We need to find you a woman before you turn into a crotchety old crone. I swear! I am here to rescue you. Come, let us hie ourselves off to the widow Creswell’s and lose ourselves in skirts and liquor.”

  “Aye, let’s, but there’s a matter I’d like to discuss first. It’s come to my attention that there’ve been several smuggling runs recently.”

  “Indeed? And how did that come to your attention? Might it be the wine we had at dinner? Your afternoon tea? Or is it that cigar you’re smoking?”

  “I’m serious, Davey. I’m aware you’ve been taking Gabriel with you, and I would rather you didn’t.”

  “What? You’ve given him to me to train and you don’t want me to take him to sea?”